Page 116 of Point of Contention
“Holy shit,” I whispered. “Stella and Gage… they did it for money?” The thought sickened me. I’d never viewed money with that kind of twisted adoration. It was a means to an end. I had bills to pay, and thus needed to earn a living. Food to buy. Clothes. Whatever. Money took care of those things.
Being spoiled by Cabot and enjoying his more lavish lifestyle was fun, but it would never become something I couldn’t live without. Cabot could lose it all and I’d still want him.
He could prop me up on his counter and feed meLunchablesand I’d still melt for him.
Curiosity tugged at the base of my skull. How much money had they earned? What was betraying Cabot worth to Stella? To Gage?
It was an inappropriate question, so I pushed it aside. It didn’t matter. Asking about the payout trivialized the act of betrayal.
Sighing, I said, “I’m sorry.” Because I was. No one should have to fear betrayal from those they trusted, and I wondered just how often a wealthy and powerful man like Cabot worried about that very thing.
“There’s more,” Cabot said.
I gave a short, humorless laugh and motioned for him to proceed. Why not, right?
His long pause made my stomach twist into knots.
“I think my father wants me to give him a grandson.”
I rocked back. “What the fuck?”
He nodded, watching me warily. “Please don’t run.”
I raised my hands, even as my gaze flicked over my shoulder to the door. “Not running.” Couldn’t deny the idea did have its appeal, though.
A fucking grandson? A forced marriage? “This is some nepo shit, isn’t it?”
Cabot’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. Smart man. “I don’t know. I think so. I’m looking into it.” He exhaled a deep breath. “Travis and I think that’s why he took the scandal and twisted it into an engagement announcement.” He raked his fingers through his beard stubble. “It’s the only thing I can think of… clean up my image, make me into the picture-perfect family man and you into the—”
“Bro.” I shook my head. “I’m not having kids.”
His eyes narrowed. “Bro?”
“Jesus, Cabot,focus.” I stood and began to pace, too anxious to sit still for this conversation. “I’m twenty-four years old.” I scoffed, shaking my head as I looked at him. “You’re not seriously considering—”
“No,” he said, raising his hands. “Not at all.”
“I’m not going to marry you just to keep you.”
His shoulders deflated on another heavy sigh, but he nodded. “I know. And you won’t have to.”
“And I’m not popping out little nepo-babies for youoryour crazy father.”
He lost the fight against the smile and it slipped free, warming my insides and making it a struggle to be mad at him.
“Won’t be necessary, my love.” He patted his knee and I glared at him.
“Don’t distract me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Come here.”
I rolled my eyes at the dominance he could so easily impart into his tone, then obliged him. Settling onto his knee, I frowned.
“I love you,” he said sternly.
“I know.”
He ran his hand up and down my back, watching me with that tortured look in his eyes.
